


The Purple Candidates

by The_Ravenclaw_Pirate



Category: Frühlings Erwachen | Spring Awakening - Frank Wedekind, Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Band Fic, F/F, Slow Burn, band formation, based loosely on sing street, for a fic about them ilse is not in it much, listen to music together, secondary school, set in england babes, they are punk, this is all for ilse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:27:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27787489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Ravenclaw_Pirate/pseuds/The_Ravenclaw_Pirate
Summary: Wendla meets Ilse. Ilse is not impressed with Wendla. Wendla starts a band. Shenanigans ensue.
Relationships: Wendla Bergmann/Ilse Neumann
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> waddup i've been writing this for a while, i'll try to keep an upload schedule but i can't promise it'll keep like the half of it did. enjoy.

It was raining one Saturday afternoon in late August, and Wendla Bergmann had the idea to write a song. She’d been dabbling in poetry in recent months, and figured song writing couldn’t be too different from that. There were some words there that were sort of alright, but she was struggling with the composition.

Somewhere in her random strumming and finger patterns on the fretboard, she stumbled upon G. It didn’t sound like G, though, as the guitar was horrifically out of tune, having never been tuned in the first place. 

Wendla remembered when she got it, that Christmas a couple of years ago at 13. She’d been begging and begging her parents to get her a guitar, and she promised she’d learn to play, she promised. Alas, she did not follow through with that promise and the guitar remained in the corner of her room for a year and a half.

The Bergmann’s had moved in July, from a nice house just outside Nottingham, though saying anything near Nottingham is nice is a stretch of the imagination, to the middle of nowhere. They had moved to somewhere so rural, so nowhere and unexciting, that there wasn’t even an Ikea nearby. Nothing. You couldn’t even have Dominoes delivered.

In any case, the guitar was almost sold in the move.

“But Sweet Pea,” her mother had said, “You’ve never even played it.”

“Mama, I’ll learn,” she’d insisted, “It’ll keep me busy since I won’t make any friends until September.

Mrs Bergmann was right, Wendla had seldom even touched the poor instrument. And the promise remained unfulfilled for the whole six week holidays, as she found different things to do. She watched and rewatched several TV series, listened to new music, watched a lot of YouTube, and even read a couple of books (Good Omens and Looking For Alaska, not bad). Everything but even beginning to learn the guitar, as it stared sullenly at her from the corner of her new bedroom, leaning against the newly green wall.

That was until that Saturday, two days after her summer to-do list was completed and she was so bored out of her skull she thought she could write about something.

“ _ It’s like that 80s movie ‘Mannequin’, how you’ve got me panickin’”  _ she repeatedly sang, changing the intonation and pitch slightly as she tried to strum something decent, but couldn’t find the right one, and even if she could the guitar was not tuned so it wouldn’t’ve mattered.

Eventually, Wendla simply gave up. She couldn’t find the right chords, her guitar was not tuned and she had no idea how to tune it anyway, and her older sister, Ina, had asked her to pack it in a couple of times. So she did.

  
  


Later that same evening, after tea when they were all still around the dining room table, an impromptu family meeting was called.

“So, you both start at your new schools on Wednesday.” their father started off, his hands clasped in front of him as his elbows leaned on the table.

“Correct.” Ina said with an eyebrow raise, “Though, college is not the same as school.”

“Right, right , of course.” Mr. Bergmann dismissed, “So you’re attending your new learning institutions. Wendla, for your last year of Secondary School, and you, Ina, for your last year at college.”

“Correct again.” Ina chimed in with a nod and a certain glint within her eye.

“Yes, yes, I know.” Mr. Bergmann dismissed again, “And we know it’s going to be difficult for you both-”

“Oooh, third one correct in a row, Pop, you’re on fire today.” Ina added, a grin plastered across her face, the glint sparkling animatedly just on the border between her black pupils and her green irises, so like Wendla’s eyes yet so much more bold.

“Pack it in, Ina,” Mrs. Bergmann asserted, her expression firm and stern, “What your father is trying to say, is that while we know it will be hard for the both of you, we really think you’ll do excellent in your respective exams, and that you’ll make some excellent friends along the way.”

There was a beat, as Ina and Wendla stared at their parents, waiting to see if they would continue.

“That it?” Ina asked, her eyebrow raised again, in typical ‘Ina’ fashion.

“Yes.”

“Sweet,” Ina began, picking up her own plate and cutlery, “Wendy, you’re washing, I’ll dry and put away.”

“Come on, Ina, I always wash!” Wendla interjected.

“Ugh, fine, if you want to do more jobs that’s fine with me.” Ina replied as she exited the dining room.

  
  


The first day was uneventful. Wendla got no kind of induction or introduction to the school, so had no idea where she was going for most of the day. Her tutor, Miss Knuppeldick, had told one of the other students to help her, but they abandoned her as soon as she got the chance.

Despite the initial confusion, by the second day Wendla had managed to become acquainted with Martha, and her friend Anna. Martha and Wendla shared a few lessons and a tutor group, so Wendla hung out with her and Anna around a bench that lunch time.

On the third day, however, the three of them met outside Wendla and Martha’s tutor room.

They were talking about common interests, like Taylor Swift and Ariana Grande, when a girl walked past.

School uniforms are never especially flattering, by design, as the blazers tend to hide any sort of unique shape one may have, particularly the comically large ones on Year 7s that made them look like David Byrne.

But this girl wore it with a punky sort of edge. Like it was a statement about oppression and resistance. Her tights had holes and ladders, which somehow only added to her enigma instead of undermining it by making her trashy. No, those holes were meant to be there, didn’t you know? All the obvious elements were there, too, like the loose tie and the leather cuffs with earrings and doc martens that were clearly against uniform rules, but the teachers were too tired to ever tell her again. Same for the hair, with streaks of blue and pink and even green shooting through the mess of dark brown hair spilling over her shoulders.

And her face! She was the most gorgeous girl Wendla had ever seen! Her cheekbones were excellent and highlighted with some pink blusher. That particular day, she had chosen a bright red lipstick, bringing out her piercing eyes. And her eyes were done up to the max. Her eyeshadow started as a wine purple, then blended into a silver, with eyeliner sharp enough to split a ream of paper with one big swipe.

Her entire aura screamed ‘punk queen’.

“Oh my God, who was that?” Wendla asked, cutting off Anna’s story about her brother (no one’s loss).

“Who?” Martha asked, looking around before finally who Wendla was staring at, “Oh, that’s just Ilse, Ilse Neumann.”

“Ilse Neumann?” Wendla asked, briefly glancing at Martha with a quizzacious eyebrow quirk.

“Yeah, that’s Ilse. She’s highly regarded as probably the coolest person in this hole.” Martha began, also turning to look at Ilse, “Or she would be, if she had any friends. Rumour has it that she does drugs, deals drugs, and plans to run away to Amsterdam.”

“That’s probably not true.”

“You’re right, but no one knows. No one can even get her to talk to them.”

“Is that so?” Wendla asked, starting to place her bag on the ground, still fixated on Ilse, “Look after my bag.

And with that, she took off towards Ilse, with purpose.

“Hello, I’m Wendla Bergmann,” Wendla began, strong start, “What’s your name.”

“Ilse. Ilse Neumann.” Ilse replied, shaking Wendla’s extended hand hesitantly.

“So, um, you like music?” Wendla asked, hopefully.

“Yes.”

“Anyone I’d know?”

“Probably not,” Ilse began, cracking the first smile and laugh Wendla, or anyone, had seen from her, “I prefer local bands, though I do have a soft spot for some classics.”

“Well, um, I’m actually in a band.” Wendla blurted out before she could stop herself, mentally facepalming.

“Really? What’s it called?” Ilse asked, the smile now gone, but an eyebrow raised.

“Um, it’s a new band, we don’t have a name just yet,” Wendla began, mumbling slightly before remembering herself, “But, um, we practice sometimes.”

“As you should.”

“Yeah, ha,” Wendla began, then remembered it was nearly form time, “Hey, if you give me your number or something, I could invite you to a rehearsal or a gig if we get one, eh? Maybe?”

Ilse considered it for a few seconds before replying, “Okay, why not? What instrument do you play?”

“Oh, um, I mostly just sing.” Wendla replied, getting her phone from her blazer pocket.

“Sing something, then.”

“What?”

“You’re a singer. Sing something, anything. I can’t just give you my number without a sample of what I’m getting into.” Ilse explained, crossing her arms.

“Um,  _ I knew you were trouble when you walked in, so shame on me now, flew me to places I’d never been, now I’m lyin’ on the cold hard ground. _ ” Wendla sang, her eyes shut tight.

“Decent, decent.” Ilse said, coolly lifting the phone from Wendla’s loose grip and adding herself as a contact, “See you around, Wendla Bergmann.”

As Wendla walked back to Martha and Anna, phone still in hand, she was almost catatonic.

“How’d it go?” Anna asked, smiling.

“I need to start a band.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> time to collect band members

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that schedule thing really worked out huh.

“Sooo, is the whole starting a band fiasco good or bad?” Martha asked whilst Miss Knuppeldick was going through notices in form.

“Not certain. It could either be a really good idea, or a supremely rubbish one.” Wendla whispered back, “Like, do you or Anna play any instruments?”

“I mean, I have a keyboard at home and Anna has a recorder, but Anna doesn’t like the recorder so doesn’t know how to play it, and I can’t read music, so just find songs I like on YouTube.” Martha replied, “But, lucky for you, I know someone who can help us.”

“Really? Who?”

“One second, they’re almost here.” Martha replied, her eyes following the mildly panicked figure of a boy one could only describe as tall and dishevelled.

“As you can see- Mr. Stiefel, it seems as though old habits die hard.” Miss Knuppeldick said as the figure opened the classroom door.

“Sorry, Miss, slept in again.”

“Take your seat.” Miss Knuppeldick simply commanded, brushing off his apology as she’d done hundreds of times before, “As I was saying,”

The boy quietly slunk to the back of the classroom and took the seat on the other side of Martha.

“Morning, Moritz.” Martha said, pity in her eyes, as he slumped into his chair.

“Morning, Martha. You good?” he replied, turning to look at her through the mess of curly hair obscuring his view.

“I’m okay, you?”

“Fantastic. Sleeping great.” he replied, monotone, before yawning.

“Excellent news.” Martha said, tapping the desk a couple of times as she glanced at Wendla, who had questions in her eyes, “Um, Mo, we need your help.”

“That’s very nice Martha but I don’t go places so I don’t know where you and Anna should go on your first date.” Moritz replied, stretching and leaning to rest his head on the desk.

“Anna and I are not dating.”

“Not yet you’re not, but I have a bet going with Ernst that you will.”

“Whatever, shut up.” Martha replied in a huff, crossing her arms as her dark cheeks became a tinted mauve. As she sulked, she looked to Wendla, who was making little pleading gestures. With a sigh and eye roll, Martha turned to Moritz again, “Moritz, seriously, we need your help with something.”

“How can I be of service? But if it’s homework, I’m sorry, Martha, I’m already behind.” Moritz replied, sitting up but still slouching.

“Well, we, and by we I mean me and Wendla-”

“Who’s Wendla?”

“Hi, I’m Wendla, I’m new.” Wendla chimed in, extending her hand across Martha, which Moritz shook hesitantly.

“Hi, I’m Moritz, I’m old.” he half joked in reply, “How can I help you pair?”

“We need to start a band.” Martha stated, smiling, adding jazz hands, all together being too energetic about it.

“Right, what does that have to do with me?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You do music stuff. You know music, you can play music. In many ways, to me, you are music, so me and Wendla really need your help.” Martha replied, stopping the jazz hands and resuming a more neutral facial expression.

“Hmm. To be honest, I have no idea why I was being an arse about it, I’ve wanted to be in a band for years, just never had anyone willing to form one.” Moritz began, smiling widely for the first time in months, “So, what do you need from me?”

“Everything. Anything. Whatever you’ve got.” Wendla replied, “I’m kind of a novice as to the kind of music we should play.”

“Well, which instruments do you need?” Moritz asked, “I can play lots of instruments, I’m happy to fill in wherever you need me.”

“All of them, pretty much.”

“Well, what instruments do you two play?” Moritz asked, his smile dropping to a more concerned expression.

“Um, I have a guitar, but I can’t play it. I’m more of a singer and lyricist to be honest.” Wendla replied, bowing her head slightly.

“I have a keyboard, but I can’t read music or anything, I’ve just memorised certain songs.” Martha replied with a shrug.

“And what genre is it?”

“Um,” Wendla began, sharing a glance.

“Oh my God, so the only thing you have is the vague idea to form a band, but no one to actually do anything and no idea what you’ve got to say with it?” Moritz asked, holding his face in his hands.

Wendla and Martha exchanged another look, before solemnly nodding.

“Right, well, I’ll take guitar, and I know a good drummer, plus a couple of bassists. Martha, I’ll keep you in mind for keyboard stuff that I can teach you, and I’ll help you write some songs, Wendla, okay?” he half asked, half stated.

“Of course. Who are the bassists?” Wendla asked, even though she knew she wouldn’t know them.

“Um, I know Ernst plays bass, and he’s great, but I’m leaning more towards our second option, even if it’s a long shot.”

“Who’s the second option?”

“Ilse Neumann. She’s kind of aloof and scary, but having spoken to her a few times I know she plays bass and is pretty good at it. I’m not so sure she’ll agree though-”

“Not Ilse.” Martha cut in.

“What? I get that she’s intimidating but-”

“No, I’m forming this band because of Ilse, to impress her. It’d be pretty, um, it just wouldn’t work. Sorry, Moritz.” Wendla shot in, her whispering voice slightly desperate.

“Well why didn’t you say so? God, this makes the genre thing so much easier!” Moritz exclaimed, earning him a quick glare from Knuppeldick.

“What do you mean?” Wendla questioned.

“I mean, I know what music Ilse likes, so this really makes it so much easier to pick a genre and then teach you important bands from it!” Moritz explained, whispering but still grinning so being louder than he would’ve liked to be out of sheer excitement, “Plus, I know that Ernst knows these bands too, so the only people I’ve got to teach are you pair and the drummer.”

“But who’s going to be the drummer?” Martha asked, starting to stand and pick up her bag from under her desk.

“With any luck, Otto, we should ask him at break.” Moritz replied, placing his bag onto his back in one quick motion.

And with that, they all swiftly exited the classroom, to make their way to their first lesson of the day.

  
  


“Otto, my guy, how are you?” Moritz asked as they entered the music room that break time.

“Mo! Missed seeing your dumb face every day, but otherwise pretty good. You?” Otto replied, turning around from placing his bag on the floor.

“The same, the same, missing your ugly mug, eh?” Moritz replied, emulating a ‘lad’ fairly decently for someone who couldn’t be much further from being one.

“Ha, good one.” Otto laughed, walking to sit at the drum set, “What can I do for you?”

“Well, me, Wendla and Martha here are forming a band, and I was hoping you’d join as our drummer?” Moritz asked, slightly tentatively, receding from his laddish entrance to his regular, awkward self.

“Sure thing, I’ve been waiting for someone to recruit me.” he nodded, playing a small bit on the drums.

“Excellent news, excellent news.” Moritz nodded back, sitting on one of the chairs.

“Lovely to have you on board. I’m Wendla, I’m new.” Wendla said, walking over to Otto and extending her hand, which he shook.

“Nice to meet you, Wendla, I’m Otto.” he replied, “Good handshake you got there.”

“Thanks.”

“And Bessell, I’m not expecting you to introduce yourself.” Otto chuckled, playing the usual comedic sound effect.

“You know me already, Lammermeier.”

“Woah, got the surname right in one, impressive.”

“Ooh, beginner’s luck.”

The four of them sat in the room for a minute, Otto practicing some pieces on the drum kit, whilst Wendla and Co picked at their nail beds.

“Otto, you have any idea where I can find Ernst?” Moritz asked.

“He’ll be here in a minute, I’m helping him practice. Said he was gonna be late though.” Otto replied, still practicing.

Just as Otto finished his sentence, none other than Ernst Robel burst through the door.

“Speak of the devil.” Otto muttered to himself.

“Otto, excellent to see you. Moritz, Martha, stranger, a pleasant surprise.” Ernst nodded as he gathered his bearings, slightly disoriented by the surplus of people present.

“Oh, I’m Wendla, I’m new here.” Wendla said, approaching Ernst and extending her hand, which he shook without much hesitation.

“Hi, Wendla, I’m Ernst, Ernst Robel. I’m not new here.” Ernst replied, walking to a chair across the room and placing his bag on it.

“Cool, cool, Ernst, we need a favour.” Moritz cut in, leaning forward in his seat.

“Depends.”

“Right, well, we’d like you to join our band.”

“Hmmm, what’s it called?” Ernst asked, briefly disappearing into a store cupboard and emerging seconds later with his bass guitar.

“Ooh, that’s a good question, actually, what is it called?” Moritz asked, turning to Wendla.

“We don’t have a name yet.” Wendla replied, sweating as all eyes turned to her.

“Good, I hate it when they pick a band name before the ensemble is complete.” Ernst nodded, opening up the bass case, “What if the name doesn’t fit. It’d be a catastrophe.”

“Wholeheartedly agree.” Moritz nodded.

“Sure, I’ll join your band.” Ernst said, lifting his red bass out it’s case, “What kind of music we playing?”

“You know, the kind we like. But I’ve got to teach these ones about punk first.” Moritz replied, leaning back in his seat and swinging his legs to rest on the one next to him.

“Excellent, excellent. And how do you plan to do that?”

“Are you lot free tomorrow night?”

“Why not tonight?” Martha asked, “Seems silly to leave it to tomorrow.”

“Too last minute, and I know Otto’s got that thing, don’t you?” Moritz replied, to which Otto nodded, “So, I assume you’re all free?”

The group nodded as Ernst and Otto launched into Another One Bites The Dust.

“Brilliant. You’re all coming to my house, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i may have deleted every chapter but the first of this on my document to rework the story, but it's fine. hope you enjoyed lmao

**Author's Note:**

> hope you liked that, it'll get better, i promise.


End file.
